


Are You There?

by Ldigo



Series: Are You..? [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Codependency, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Obsession, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24772573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ldigo/pseuds/Ldigo
Summary: During their interrogation at the precinct after Lila’s death, Jeremiah suddenly decides to take all the blame, for the first time in his life refusing to be a coward (but not a liar).
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Series: Are You..? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791613
Comments: 7
Kudos: 75





	Are You There?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The one in which they grew up together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802648) by [Alexander_Wesker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Wesker/pseuds/Alexander_Wesker). 



> Just one more ‘Jeremiah never leaves the circus’ au (and one more unfinished work on my shoulders, because apparently having two of them wasn’t enough). This work is a part of a series, so expect an update... sometime in the future.
> 
> It’s also somewhat inspired by a wondrous work here on AO3, meaning that I borrowed the idea of Jeremiah contemplating but not leaving Haley’s from there. Check it if you’re interested.

Jeremiah knew how his mind worked. In fact, for all his brazenness, showmanship and apparent — almost proudly displayed — instability, Jerome might very well be less insane twin. Jeremiah just hid it exceptionally well whilst his brother never could be even slightly bothered to.

Not counting his admittedly masterful acts, of course. One of which he was currently engaged in. And it seemed, rather shockingly, that he wasn’t pulling it off this time around. Probably because this spineless coward of a fortune teller had already snitched them and the cops were just amusing themselves by this point.

Jerome saw this too, Jeremiah was sure of it, but his brother couldn’t just stop and admit defeat now. He had never been able to discard his hopes and expectations in an instant and adapt to new circumstances quickly enough, that was more Jeremiah’s forte. Especially not a hope as big as living free from Lila, the abusive drunken whore that she was.

This brought Jeremiah back on topic. Jerome wasn’t half as covert as he himself was. Well, he could be, but didn’t see the point most of times, and he certainly wouldn’t see it now if he was shipped off to rot in prison or — more likely — asylum, where the last remnants of who his brother once was would doubtlessly be crashed.

At least these were the vibes Jeremiah caught from their interrogator, one James Gordon, and his intuition was honed into nearly perfection due to eighteen years of abuse at the hands of his so-called ‘family’. Jerome should have understood it too, but he stubbornly refused to back up and do any sort of damage control instead of digging his own grave, and Jeremiah couldn’t comprehend what possessed him to pursue this, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold from aside.

And then it hit him. _Of course!_ Jerome could push him and call him names (admittedly, not entirely without a reason) all he wanted, but the simple truth was, he _loved_ him. He loved Jeremiah despite everything he ever put him through, and he protected him as best he could. In this instance he protected him from laying in the bed they _both_ made after realizing that deception failed. He didn’t want Jeremiah to suffer alongside him if he could help it.

The realization was painful, excruciatingly so. Jeremiah felt as though all the air was squeezed from his lungs, and he couldn’t _breathe_. He couldn’t stand the notion of his twin, whom he was always pushing away in desperate attempt to flee, to escape from how completely they were intertwined in each other’s orbits, going through this alone.

The cop’s suspicions weren’t fully confirmed as of yet, as Mr. Cicero, it seemed, hadn’t disclosed all the details (or probably didn’t know them himself). They couldn’t know for sure whether both twins were involved or it was either one of them, and who it was exactly, if that was the case. Right now, however, the scales gravitated towards Jerome being the culprit with each passing second, and he did everything in his power to cement this idea barring openly admitting to the crime out of some fleeting hope for an off chance to come out of this unscathed. All because he wanted to _protect Jeremiah_.

Jeremiah, who was ungrateful and deceitful and fooled everyone around them into thinking worst about Jerome before he succumbed to their expectations and became who they assumed him to be all along. Still, he protected Jeremiah, despite knowing him as no one else ever could, ever would, _even in this_.

And Jeremiah couldn’t _stand_ it. He didn’t deserve such devotion, certainly not from the person whom he harmed most. He wanted to open his mouth, stand up for his twin who always did the same for him, expecting (and receiving) nothing in return, _do something_ , but he just couldn’t.

Their fates weren’t set in stone yet, but it was close enough, and Jeremiah didn’t do anything like a coward he was, ready to get away with this like he always did, because some small, but vicious part of his mind told him not to interfere. _Jerome isn’t important_ , it whispered, _see, he knows it himself. He deliberately endangers himself again and again because of his weakness. Attachments make us weak, Jeremiah. You doesn’t need him. In couple of hours he’ll take all the blame and will be off to some facility, probably for the rest of his life, and you will be completely free. From Lila, from Zack, from_ him _. You’ll craft your life as you always wanted it and none would be the wiser._

Jeremiah felt sick for even considering this, despite knowing deep down that it was the route that would work out in his favor most, that it was the only route he had ever taken and would doubtlessly take again. He didn’t want to be like this, he _didn’t_.

Albeit he was. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t discard this small vicious part of himself, just as he never could completely discard Jerome. It was this poisonous voice that urged him to paint his brother as someone different, someone worse than he was just to look better himself and therefore be subjected to fewer beatings and belittlings. It was the same voice that made him seriously consider necessary steps to ruin Jerome and escape the circus altogether.

Fortunately, he was self-aware enough to stop in time before it could come into fruition. He dreaded what Jerome would have thought of him if he followed through (alas, at times Jeremiah couldn’t shake the feeling that Jerome somehow _knew_ his most guarded secret, but he didn’t give any indication, so Jeremiah let him be).

And now was one of these times again. Jeremiah knew that he still had an opportunity to change things, to drown together with his brother at least, if nothing else, but the voice was there, and he just _couldn’t_. He sat mutely, snuggled to his brother, appearing anxious and guileless for anyone other than himself (and possibly Jerome) and did nothing.

He was losing the battle he warred in his head, and he knew it. There was nothing he could do.

And then the cop, apparently tired of Jerome’s antics, dropped the bomb. All hell broke loose.

Paul Cicero was their _father_. _Paul Cicero_ was _their father_. In hindsight, Jeremiah shouldn’t have been all that surprised; the blind old man had always been somewhat different towards them than the rest of the crew, and the story about a marine captain didn’t stand a chance against any semblance of scrutiny. Privately, Jerome and Jeremiah tended to assume that Lila herself didn’t know whom she had whored herself out to that one time and made this spotty fairytale up on a whim.

But _this_? This worthless shell of a man, an ugly spineless ruin of a human being? No fucking way!

Jeremiah’s reaction, though, didn’t hold a candle to his twin’s. Jerome completely lost it, after staring straight in the face of the bitch’s last joke on them for all these years without a single clue.

Their fucking _father_ lost his composure too, facing Jerome’s hysterics (Jeremiah could relate — his brother had an uncanny ability to become unbearable at times like this), and admitted aloud to helping one of the twins with the body.

This was it. The point of no return. Jeremiah knew what Jerome was about to do even before his sobs began to sound like snickers (not that anyone caught up to it yet). And then, in split of a moment decision, completely illogical and wrong and so _liberating_ , he did what he frankly believed himself incapable of.

For the first time during this interrogation (and his whole life, not that anyone aside from his brother knew that) he opened his mouth and let go. He _laughed_.

**JVJVJV**

Jim sat in front of the Valeska twins and didn’t know what to think. It should have been easy, interrogating two barely legal teenagers in order to quickly establish which one (or both) killed their mother, be done with it and return to more important cases. Easy. He didn’t even need Lee to do this, though he allowed her to tag along just in case.

It turned out, nothing about this particular murder was easy _at all_. He went through the motions without really concentrating on them, instead drowning deeper and deeper in his short-circuited contemplations, nowhere nearer to any sort of conclusion than he was at the very beginning of this farce of an interrogation. Jerome droned on and on with trembling Jeremiah pressing into him silently, as if seeking comfort, a frightened expression on his face. Jim payed the elder brother’s words no heed.

It should have been easy, but it wasn’t. At first glance, the more straightforward and brazen twin was an obvious culprit. _Too_ obvious, for Jim’s liking. He protected Jeremiah with a well-practiced fluency of someone who did it for years and wasn’t able to just stop now, despite the awareness of the situation he was landing himself into with each word that was clearly visible in his intelligent eyes. The same awareness reflected in his twin’s own orbs, and yet Jeremiah didn’t seem to even consider contributing to Jerome’s monologue.

The whole arrangement looked too habitual, comfortable for the two of them, as though well-rehearsed and played out daily. It screamed at Jim that something was very, very wrong. The distinct impression — more like an intuitive leap — that Jeremiah wasn’t nearly as affected as he let on didn’t help matters any.

Was it possible that the younger twin, who was adored and cherished by everyone except for the fortune teller (who also happened to be his father, the fact that only fueled Jim’s unease further), who looked so miserable and fragile now, was in fact the real culprit, possibly a psychopath, and simply _chose_ his twin to be the scapegoat for his wrongdoing (and probably many previous ones)? Was he able to condition and manipulate his brother for years to be the receiver of all the negative attention instead of facing his mistakes himself, using Jerome’s unconditional — somehow _resigned_ , as though he knew it wasn’t reciprocated but protected Jeremiah anyway — love for him to get away with things?

Jim didn’t know, and that was exactly what was driving him up the wall. What if both theories, one obvious and other overly convoluted, were wrong? What if he didn’t get a first thing right about brothers’ dynamics?

What if he was sitting right now in front of not one, but two murderers who conspired together against their mother, got caught despite all their failsafes and now didn’t have any clue how to proceed, thus retreating to their most familiar masks?

He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t even hazard a likely guess. Lee’s face indicated her similar state.

The whole procedure was useless, they weren’t getting anywhere. Jim was almost at his wits (and patience) end, and still nothing.

It was time to play his winning card, then.

“That’s enough,” he interrupted the boy mid-rant. “I think everyone in this room knows that one of you killed your mother and sought Mr. Cicero’s aid afterwards, and we are also aware that this person isn’t going to admit to the deed. Your act is useless, Jerome, and all you’re going to achieve by maintaining it is placing yourself as more likely culprit than your brother,” none of the twins even flinched, confirming at least part of Jim’s assumptions. “It doesn’t really matter, though. The only thing that isn’t clear to me is why Mr. Cicero here went along with it. You have any ideas?”

Both twins shook their heads in eerily similar motions, and Jim proceeded to deliver his final blow, keenly looking for reaction; “I believe he must be your father.”

Valeskas blinked as one, uncomprehending. Jeremiah straightened a bit, no longer melting into his brother’s loving embrace, but otherwise remained still. Jerome again did all the talking for the two of them, as Jim started to suspect he was prone to do in any manner of social interactions.

At last he managed to bring the fortune teller to confirm his theory without an empty threat of a genetic test. All to the best, he supposed, as somehow the Valeska twins didn’t strike him as an easily fooled type. He suspected they’d just probably laugh in his face if he so much as hinted at such a procedure being over in half an hour.

He watched on at the proceedings with rapt attention, barely resisting the urge to make a face at Mr. Cicero’s words of the deceased woman’s love for her children. Clearly that wasn’t the case, otherwise she wouldn’t be dead and cut into pieces right now, or at least the innocent twin would’ve outed the murderer, wounded by the death of his doting parent. Judging by the distinct lack of anything of the above, Lila Valeska was nothing of the sort.

Meanwhile Jerome crouched down, appearing to be crying, while his twin stared off into the distance. An odd reaction to abrupt shattering of one’s dreams, but not unheard of. And really, who was Jim to judge?

That was of no concern to him, anyway. He dropped the bomb with the intention of throwing the murderer(s) of their feet enough to receive any indication as to who might be the culprit, but of course it wasn’t meant to be that easy.

...or was it?

With dawning horror Jim watched the younger twin laughing himself silly, as though he’d just heard the funniest joke in his lifetime. He almost missed a mirroring to his own expression appearing on Jerome’s face, too busy comprehending the apparent truth behind his musings, but still caught on.

He frowned. Something didn’t add up there.

“Miah, don’t,” Jerome whispered hoarsely, no doubt reading his brother’s intentions in advance with a practiced ease of someone who did it for all their life. He received a squeeze of his wrist and a small gentle smile in lieu of answer, which somehow looked both intimate, private even, and almost unnatural, as though never tried on before. Almost as soon as it appeared, the smile vanished together with all remaining traces of Jeremiah’s insane laughter, leaving an eerily empty slate behind.

“Our _mother_ ,” Jeremiah somehow managed to spat in entirely calm, emotionless tone, “was a cold-hearted bitch who loved no one, least of all a spineless old wrench as yourself or, say, her own kids. Drop these pathetic platitudes, will you? She most probably was drunk out of her mind and not at all processing what she was doing when she stooped low enough to whore herself out to you, and that was it.”

Jerome stared at his twin in disbelief, seemingly not quite believing in what was right in front of him, but whether it meant that he was the real culprit or just already resigned himself to act as one, was of no importance anymore. Jeremiah made up his mind, and Jim had no other option than to go along with it. No matter if their story was true or not, the only confession made here today was going to be Jeremiah’s.

“Why did you kill your mother, Jeremiah?” he asked weakly, as if he didn’t already know the answer. Not that he was doubtlessly about to receive the truthful one, though.

“Well, you know how mothers are,” Jeremiah leaned in conspiratorially. “All that sticking her nose into things that should’ve in no way concerned her, hurtful words about Jerome, sometimes both of us, when she was high or drunk enough. Not _just_ words, mind you. It wasn’t that bad most of the time, but there was this one unforgivable thing. She just wouldn’t. Shut. Up. Was I asking too much?

“No, I think not. And so I snapped. I don’t even remember what it was that triggered me off. Some harsh comment about Jerome, I think. It almost always is,” he turned to his twin again, adopting the same smile as before, though slightly less unnatural this time. “Apparently, I do love you, Jer. As far as I’m able. Who would have thought?”

The deranged laughter from before returned, too, sounding even more menacing. There was also something borderline hysterical to it, but Jim had neither wish nor ground to examine it more closely. The case was over now. Murder solved. He had no justifiable reason to keep the brothers in here any longer.

No matter how something seemed off, the law was the law. Jeremiah would be shipped off to Arkham first thing, while his silent — oh, how the roles became reversed now — brother would leave the precinct as a free man for the time being (though not for much longer, Jim suspected with no small amount of dread. But still; he didn’t have any reason except for his gut feeling to apprehend him as well; in other words, no reason at all). Something was definitely wrong with Jerome, but Jim couldn’t put his finger on it or even name it in the vaguest of terms, and thus he resigned himself to watching closely, determined to step in timely before anything untoward could take place.

“So, you killed your own mother to free your brother from abuse, correct? Had anyone else displayed similar behavior towards the two of you?” Jim prompted when the laughter died out. It wasn’t like he had a soft spot for child abusers, far from it, but his intuition screamed for him to interfere. No one deserved such a gruesome death, and Jerome’s freedom made him fear for possible offenders’ lives.

“As if that drunken whore could be ever considered anyone’s mother, least of all ours,” Jeremiah dismissed him derisively. “And I wouldn’t call it abuse.”

“No? What would you call it then?” Lee joined in with a troubled expression on her face.

“ _Disciplining_ ,” he singsonged. “They do hold the notion in ridiculously high regard at Haley’s, you see.”

That sounded alarming, though in no way answered Jim’s original question. Thankfully, there was another, more open source of information in the room.

“Mr. Cicero?” he inquired. “Can you tell us anything about the brothers’ abuse?”

The twins’ father frowned, quickly casted his unseeing eyes in teens’ direction, but averted them just as fast, as though it pained him to look at them, blind or not. He answered at last, tone deliberately contemplating; “What can you expect from old disabled fortune teller, who spends all his free time alone in his trailer? No, I ain’t know nothing.”

“See? Disciplining,” Jeremiah commented with a condescending smirk. Something shifted in his brother’s gaze, as they appeared to be communicating non-verbally, but Jim didn’t have a first clue about what it might be. His uneasiness grew in size tenfold, and still there was nothing he could do.

“Very well,” he relented with a heavy sigh. “Jeremiah Valeska, you are under arrest for murdering your mother. You’ll spend the night in here and will be shipped off to Arkham Asylum in the morning. I suppose I shall leave you two to say goodbye undisturbed now, as I’m not sure when you’ll be getting a chance to see each other in the future. I believe you’ll have to discuss the possibility of visitation with hospital personnel, Jerome.”

He stood up, prompting Lee and Mr. Cicero to follow him out, leaving the Valeska twins in as much privacy as it was possible. He was tempted to eavesdrop on their conversation, but decided against it. It wasn’t like two highly intelligent teenagers, one or both of whom were murderers, wouldn’t consider such a possibility and filter their words just in case, anyway.

**JVJVJV**

Jeremiah’s head was spinning. Not that it was in any way visible to the cops, of course — a lifetime of meticulously maintained facades saw to it. His brother, however, wasn’t fooled that easily and kept sending him concerned glances throughout his farce of confession. Thankfully, he abode by his decision and never tried to pull the attention back to himself.

At long last they were left alone. Well, as alone as ones could get in an interrogation room at the precinct. Jeremiah almost dreaded the half-unspoken conversation that was sure to follow now.

“Why, Miah?” Jerome asked after a minute of charged silence, his voice cracking. “I would’ve took all the blame, you know that! Why did you have to ruin it?”

“‘Ruin it’? I think not,” he shook his head with that gentle smile that felt so foreign on his lips. “I don’t think you would have survived that asylum of theirs. Sounds rather unwelcome, I reckon. And I already said why, didn’t I? I love you, Jer. I’m sorry it took me so long to truly mean it.”

“You dork!” Jerome snorted helplessly, shoving him in his shoulder. “What the fuck does it matter if you embrace it or not? It’s not like I didn’t know about your feelings all along, no matter what we did to each other. You didn’t have to acknowledge them, least of all in such setting. You think you’re gonna do better there than me? All alone, surrounded by hostile doctors and other inmates?”

“I can certainly try,” he shrugged, neither confirming nor denying Jerome’s accusations. Truth be told, he didn’t think this through and had no idea what awaited him, but his twin didn’t need to know that.

Jerome leaned in, their foreheads almost touching, staring intently in Jeremiah’s eyes as though they contained his whole universe within their depth. Not that it was such a far-fetched assumption for either one of them — while Jerome openly admitted it, Jeremiah tried to deny the truth, but it still caught up with him in the end. When it mattered most.

And in this moment he really believed that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Any amount of torture disguised as ‘treatment’, skirmishes with other prisoners, even death itself would be worth it, as long as his brother — _other half of his soul_ — looked at him like that. With happiness and wounded gratefulness and constant wonder. As if there wasn’t anything else even remotely interesting in the world.

“I’ll think of something,” Jerome whispered after a lengthy pause, his lips barely moving (and so close that they almost grazed his own). “I swear it, Miah. I’ll find a way to get you out, and if I don’t, I’ll lend myself in. You won’t be alone for much longer.”

“Don’t,” he objected harshly. “I gifted you with freedom not for you to just throw it away at the drop of a hat. Don’t you dare be ungrateful fool, live your fucking life. You are free now.”

“No, I am certainly not,” Jerome calmly retorted, still not moving an inch from his position, which started to become distracting (and made Jeremiah even angrier, of course, though not enough to back away himself). “Don’t you see it? My freedom is _you_ , Miah. Has always been and will remain so, especially now, when you did this. What am I saying, of course you see it, smart ass. You know I can’t let you go, you even expect me not to. Those pretty words are simply meant to appease your nonexistent conscience, aren’t they?”

Jeremiah jerked, attempting to get away from the only one who’s always seen _him_ , but Jerome’s strong hands didn’t let him.

“Miah, don’t!” he exclaimed desperately, frantically, albeit no less gently, and continued in far more subdued tone, “Don’t try to hide from me, please. I love you, all of you, no matter what you do. Why do you never believe that? You think I don’t know why you decided against throwing me to the wolves? I do. You’re selfish, Miah. You simply couldn’t let me go, and you knew that would happen if you followed through with my plan. You wouldn’t stay behind if I were apprehended, moving on instead, and you cannot stand the mere thought of it. I’ll be first to admit that I’m all sorts of fucked-up, but it doesn’t deter me in the slightest. I love you, Miah, just the way you are. I don’t think I’d ever stop, even if you left the circus all those years ago, even if you left me to rot in Arkham now. Do you believe me, sweetheart?”

Jeremiah blinked, feeling tears — genuine ones, probably for the first time in his whole life — threatening to overcome him. Jerome _knew_! Knew that he planned to frame him and escape their life together at Haley’s when they were kids, and still didn’t reject him. _Never_ rejected him, truth be told, no matter how Jeremiah tortured him. Why did life have to be so unfair? He didn’t deserve such a loving, accepting, wonderful sibling. He was awful, ungrateful...

Jerome’s thumb was agonizingly tender against his wet feverish skin. Wait, wet? Those tears must have crossed the precipice then. How humiliating.

“No, please, don’t cry on me now, Miah. I love you,” Jerome repeated, utterly distressed. Of course he’d notice that Jeremiah wasn’t faking his reaction. “You’re everything. My whole world. My Universe. There’s nothing and no one else, and never will be. You do believe me, don’t you?”

His face was entirely open, more earnest than ever, no treachery at all. Even in their quiet moments together on that single sleeping cot that they’d overgrown years ago Jerome had never been more exposed, always keeping at least _something_ to himself. Entirely justifiable, of course, considering that Jeremiah himself never let on more than a fraction of what he truly felt, ‘bonding time’ or not. He always ran away at first sign of Jerome pushing and poking at that invisible wall that separated Jeremiah from the outside world, which used to include (albeit with difficulty) his elder brother as well.

There were no boundaries between the two of them left now. Jeremiah was tired, so very tired of denying himself what he craved above all, and so he stopped. Just like that.

Admittedly, it was the least fitting location for things of such magnitude, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. What did it matter when he’d be thrown into an honest to God asylum first thing in the morning? Jerome looked straight in his eyes, looked and _saw_ and _loved_ despite his howling demons, and Jeremiah met his stare dead on, not afraid anymore of the only one who inhabited _his_ Universe seeing what monster he was. There wasn’t — couldn’t possibly be — anyone else worthy enough, anyway.

He registered time ticking by dimly, as if from a faraway point of view. It held no real meaning now, not when he was open and honest and raw for the very first time in his life, when he engaged in countless silent conversations at an insane speed. His whole world simultaneously shrank and expanded to fit nothing but Jerome, and it was thrilling, mind-blowing.

Jerome asked something, he remembered. Something important. He tried to say “I do”, not really knowing what it pertained to anymore, but words wouldn’t come.

No matter. With unfamiliar — or achingly familiar but always denied — pressure growing inside him like a swell of a see tide, mirrored to a T in those perfectly similar orbs across from his own, he knew far better way to express himself. He breached that almost nonexistent gap between their mouths and finally _touched_.

Calling this mere kissing would do the act no justice. Soul sharing was more like it, and quite fitting, considering who they were. This state of utter wholeness and fiery want, all at the same time… as if they were the closest they could ever be, but never close enough.

His head spun for entirely different reasons, like need of oxygen, for example, that was far outweighed by desire to mold together until they weren’t two separate beings anymore. Alas, they parted at last, dark spots dancing before their eyes, and immediately dived back in after a few greedy gasps of air.

This time was not as desperate, more exploratory, albeit no less intense. It allowed them to breath through their noses, negating the necessity to stop if only for mere seconds. At some point Jeremiah found himself straddling his brother’s lap, the fact that was acknowledged and carelessly thrown aside. He neared the point when he’d pay no heed to anyone stupid enough to intrude upon them. Jerome, as patient as he was, had surely lost any such reservations a while ago (if he ever had them to begin with), if his warm hands under the hem of Jeremiah’s shirt were anything to go by.

“Miah,” his brother rasped, abandoning his gasping mouth in favor of showering his neck and collarbones in bites and open-mouthed kisses. A particularly strong suck on just the right spot made the younger twin violently shove his head back, providing more room for Jerome’s thorough ministrations, and moan shamelessly. The outside world could burn to the ground for all he cared, as in that very moment it ceased to exist.

“Jer, Jer, Jay,” he whimpered brokenly, his fingers tangled in his brother’s ginger locks. Finding purchase, he forcibly tugged on them, tasting his own sweat on Jerome’s lips.

The new kiss was almost as desperate as the first one. Their clothes were constricting, redundant on their feverish bodies. Jeremiah clawed messily at Jerome’s sweater, his lizard brain not catching up to the necessity of parting lips in order to pull the offending garment off. Jerome caressed his back under the fabric, movements tender in stark contrast to their heated kiss, almost brutal in the hunger behind it.

“Holy fuck!” someone exclaimed, followed by the sound of something sharp colliding with the floor.

**JVJVJV**

“I suppose an hour must be enough, don’t you think?” Jim asked, glancing at the clock. He finally calmed down enough after what had transpired in the interrogation room, mostly thanks to Lee’s tranquil voice and several cups of steaming tea.

“Sounds fair to me,” she agreed — unnecessarily, as he’d already got up and was fishing for the key in his pockets.

“There it is!” he exclaimed, finally finding the one from the room in which he locked the Valeska twins. It was probably an overkill, of course, but better be safe than sorry.

He hurried to his destination, Lee in tow, and inserted the key into the lock, not even glancing at the reflecting glass — he turned it off himself, feeling generous enough to provide the kids with some privacy for the last time in god knows how long.

He paid for his kindness dearly as soon as he opened the door.

“Holy fuck!” Jim uttered disbelievingly, dropping the case folder in shock. The Valeska twins didn’t even twitch, probably too engrossed in each other to notice the newcomers. “Lee, do you see what I think I see?”

“Yes,” she swallowed audibly, and continued in the most strained voice he’d ever heard from her. “In fact, it shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. From a psychological point of view, codependency and subsequent incest is fairly common amongst close-aged siblings in abusive households. In atmosphere that is toxic and oppressive from all sides, they develop the only safe bond that is available to them to unhealthy proportions, which results in complete dismissal of the outside world. This way they are able to retain their sanity... somewhat. An ultimate defence mechanism.”

“You know, Doc, I personally don’t find your complements all that flattering. ‘Defence mechanism’, really?” one of the twins — Jerome, probably, though it was hard to tell with glasses laying on the table — drawled.

“Me neither,” the other breathlessly agreed, his eyes half-closed and expression indicating just how much it pained him to stay away from his counterpart’s lips. They still hadn’t moved more than was absolutely necessary in order to contribute to the discussion of their shared pathology, evidently not giving a fuck about the audience. “Please don’t tell us that you _really_ left us without supervision in here. That would be embarrassing for my missed escape opportunity.”

Jeremiah, then, and the first one was indeed Jerome.

“The door was locked,” Jim replied defensively, and stared pointedly at their position. “Do you mind climbing off your brother, Jeremiah? I can’t imagine you’re comfortable sitting like that in my and Dr. Thompkins’ presence.”

“You mean _you’re_ not comfortable, Officer,” the younger twin replied pleasantly, not moving an inch from Jerome’s thighs, who in turn just pulled his brother closer with a matching condescending smirk.

“Why would he do that?” Jerome joined in, his face hardening. “It’s not like we’re gonna have plenty opportunities to touch like we want to once he is off to that facility of yours. I imagine the shrinks there would tear us apart and refuse my visits from then on if we so much as twitched the wrong way.”

“You intend to visit your brother?” Lee asked in once again composed voice, her eyes infinitely sad. Valeskas scoffed in sync, not deigning her with a verbal response. “It isn’t healthy, for both of you. Neither of you will be able to succeed in working through your violent past, Jeremiah’s therapy won’t be of any use, thus effectively confining him to Arkham walls for the rest of his life. Your own life, Jerome, will be ruined as well.”

“Life in itself isn’t healthy, _Doctor_ ,” Jeremiah spat derisively, then ceded the reigns over conversation to his twin without any visible sign of communication between the two of them.

“We all die in the end, and you have no right to decide the means for us.”

“I’ve already died anyway the moment that pathetic coward of a father decided to run his mouth.”

“And I as well, at that same time. Can’t imagine my afterlife without Jeremiah, now can I?”

“You are unhealthily attached to each other, I know,” Lee tried again, though Jim was positive it was all in vain. “That’s exactly what I was speaking of. Codependency to the point of disdain towards anyone else, no matter if they try to help you. If you just _looked_ , Jerome, you’d easily find that there’re other good people out there, not just your brother.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Doc,” Jerome smirked, perfectly mimicking his twin’s intonation while pronouncing Lee’s degree. “I know _intimately_ that Jeremiah isn’t ‘good people’, and don’t give a shit. We are one and the same, he and I, after all.”

The silence that ensued was oppressive. Jim frankly didn’t know what to say, and Lee seemed at a loss as well. After several long minutes, though, Jeremiah, who by then had skillfully turned round — due to his circus upbringing, no doubt — in his brother’s lap, decided to take pity on them.

“Is there anything you needed, gentleman — and lady, of course? Perhaps escorting Jerome out to let me wallow in my misery and contemplate my life choices in a cell for the rest of the night?”

“Right,” Jim rasped, finally remembering what it was he came here for. “I’m sorry, Jerome, but you have to leave now. I’ve already bent the rules more than it’s allowed as it is.”

The Valeska twins sprang to their feet — seemingly simultaneously, though it must have been impossible, circus training or not — and embraced each other tightly. There were no tears or heartbroken words, as if they knew something that he himself didn’t. Jim pondered on watching the recording of their hour together just to try and locate what it was, but decided against it. He wasn’t particularly keen on gay porn, and incestuous one to boot, and besides, he wouldn’t find anything useful if they thought they were listened on.

They kissed, of course, as there wasn’t really any point in concealing their relationship now, and Jim had a hard time looking anywhere but at the elephant in the room. Lee cleared her throat when it became clear that they weren’t about to stop of their own volition. Thankfully, this time around the sound proved to be enough.

When they parted, the brothers stared in each other’s eyes for a few moments, two perfect carbon copies, and then abruptly turned away in sync. Jerome left, never once looking back, and Jim escorted him to the entrance, leaving Lee to take care of the convict.

“Where will you go now, Jerome?” he felt the need to ask. “I can’t imagine how your refusal to leave your brother be can coexist with a life on constant move that you led up until this point.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me too much, Jimbo,” the teen chuckled darkly. “I hear uncle dearest must be frolicking somewhere nearby — you know, his drinking habits weren’t that great for performance, unlike our mommy’s. And even if he kicks me out — a fair concern, mind you — I’m an adult now. I’m sure I’ll figure something out without resorting to Jeremiah’s abandonment. His life has already became hard enough as it is, there’s no need to fuel his pain.”

“Good luck then,” Jim offered lamely around a lump in his throat. He watched the eldest Valeska twin bounce down the steps and disappear around the corner, feeling as though he’d just made an enormous mistake letting him off the hook. After all, he wouldn’t have that much time to constantly track all his movements, and god only knew what the clearly insane kid might be up to in the meantime. Legality of something, for once, certainly wasn’t an issue for either of the Valeskas, it seemed.

Jim just hoped that the collateral damage wouldn’t be too severe when Jerome inevitably snapped.


End file.
